Ease
by Hikaruhia
Summary: Dave grows up like all the rest of us - struggling in new environments, finding out that his family isn't perfect, and, overall, coming to terms with himself and how he fits into this world.
1. Chapter 1

Your name is Dave Strider, and you have just turned ten. Currently, you are standing at a baseball park. Not a cool one, with huge lights and even huger televisions, but a lame one with dirt and fat coaches who bumble back and forth yelling at little kids throwing balls at each other. Your Bro is standing beside you, looking calm and collected as he watches the kids on the field, his arms crossed over his chest and his shoulders slouched just so. You watch him out of the corner of your eye and copy his pose, fiddling with your shades so that they slant across your face the way that his shades do. It's not like you need to mimic him; enough cool has rubbed off on you that you just naturally radiate the stuff. Sometimes it's good to make sure, though.

Why are you even here? Your Bro just dragged you from the apartment, popped you in the car, and started driving. He does that sometimes, but usually you're going someplace useful like the grocery store or the gas station or something. He doesn't take you to recreational places, ever. You thought it was maybe one of those 'things Bro never does that normal parental figures do.'

A guy comes up to you, interrupting your thoughts, a huge grin on his face. "Howdy there, Dirk!" he exclaims, casually exchanging a fist bump with your brother through the fence. "Sure glad you decided to come on around! How are you doing, old boy? We haven't had a proper conversation in a jolly long time!"

Bro's lips quirk upwards in a smirk. "Doin' ok, bro," he says, then gestures vaguely in your direction. "This is the twerp, Dave."

"Hey!" The other man exclaims with a grin twisting his lips upwards. "It's super cool to finally meet you! I've heard a lot about you, but I've never had the pleasure of seeing you in person!" He offers you his fist, and you press your own curled fingers against his for a brief second before returning to your original stance. You squint at him through your shades. He's familiar, but you don't remember him. He has ruffled black hair, and sparkling green eyes. His teeth are crooked, and he talks funny. You couldn't place his accent if you tried.

"Are you guys gonna pop-a-squat and watch today or is Davey-" Davey? What? Who is this loser and why is he calling you Davey? You glare at him through your shades. "-officially part of the team now?" The not-your-bro guys asks, his smile all teeth as he looks back at Bro. "The kids were delighted to hear they'd have a new team mate to replace the boy who shoved off for a different state!"

Now you have a better idea as to what exactly is going on here. You lift your face towards Bro's, but he isn't looking at you. You feel betrayed; he didn't even hint that he was going to sign you up for a baseball team! You didn't even like baseball. Bro knew that! Why was he doing this to you? You're tempted to make a snide remark, and maybe storm back to the car, but you're too cool for that. Bro taught you better. As much as you don't want to, you keep your cool.

"Just watching today." Bro replies. He's still not looking at you. Surely he knew how enraged you would be. "Which one's yours?"

The other guy laughs. "None of them are mine, you know that silly! My cousin is the one pitching, though." He points. You don't bother to look. It's not worth the twitch of your head.

Bro is looking though, and a smirk is curving his lips again. "Looks like you, Jake. Sure he ain't yours?"

Jake laughs, and it is literally the most obnoxious noise you've ever heard in your life. Where did you brother meet a guy like this seriously? "Related, but not that kind of related! Anyhow, though, I have to get back to 'em! They'll be chasing butterflies if I don't keep 'em corralled!" He gives Bro a mocking salute and trots off.

Now Bro is turning to you. Finally. It was about time he looked at you. With pointed coldness, you ignore him. You can feel your lips quiver into a pout. You're ten, after all. Coolness has rubbed off on you, but you haven't lived long enough to perfect the art like Bro has.

"Listen, little man," Bro says to you, giving your shoulder a nudge with his fist. "I know you think you'll hate it an' shit, but I really want you to give it a try. Jake's a good guy, been playing baseball since we were in middle school, and I know he'll make sure you have some fun." He gives you a smirk, but you don't feel consoled. He could see it on your face, you knew, since your pout hasn't quite diminished. He lets out a tiny huff, almost a sigh, and runs partially-gloved fingers through his hair. "Do it for Mom and Pop, will ya? Dad always wanted to see you playin' some sport or another."

There is a twang of hurt in your chest, and you are angry at your Bro for pulling the parent card. You want to say something rude, tell him how un-cool that was, but your bite your tongue and dip your chin in the slightest nod. He doesn't smile, and he doesn't speak, but he ruffles your hair in the way that you hate and you can envision the flash of pride that momentarily flickers in his eyes. You're still not happy, but the idea that he's proud of you makes your chest puff a little.

You don't stay much longer. Bro says he has a gig at his joint tonight, and he needs to get home to get ready. You sigh inwardly to yourself. Not like it matters. You're used to this by now. It will just be another normal night by yourself in your messy apartment. It's normal. You're used to it. Of course you are.

John ⇒ Be the kid throwing balls

You are now John Egbert, nine years old, and having the most fun you've had since the last time you got to come out and play baseball. Which was, coincidentally, two days ago at your last practice. This is only the second practice of the season, but already you're totally stoked! Your team rocks, what with you as the best pitcher ever, and then Mikey and Sam as the best batters ever, and then you had a couple of boys as the best outfielders, and then a couple as the fastest runners ever, and, all in all, the ten of you made the best team ever to walk the face of this baseball field! The only thing you're missing is a kick-butt catcher. Your old catcher, Jack, moved so quickly after the first practice you weren't even sure what happened. Your cousin, Jake, who was also your coach, told you that it was because his mom and dad didn't communicate so stuff got messed up.

But that was totally ok, since there was a new kid coming to play on your team! Even if he wasn't good at catching, it would be ok. One of the other boys on your team was good at playing that position, so you could just reshuffle who would play where and it would be just fine. In fact, what you were doing right now was practicing with your possibly permanent but also possibly temporary replacement catcher. It was good practice, even if the other guy didn't stay in that position!

The ball flies from your fingers and lands with a solid 'woomph' in the catcher's glove. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Jake talking to a couple of people you don't recognize. You turn your head to get a better look, but at the shout of "Heads up!" you jerk you face back forward. You have to jump a little to catch the ball out of the air, but the round curve of dirty white lands solidly in your mit. It might be a little too dangerous to look away when there are baseballs flying around.

You keep pitching, only letting your eyes slip away from your task for a few seconds to catch a glimpse of who Jake is talking to before they shoot back to what you're doing. You are curious. You want to know who they are super bad! You throw two more pitches before Jake is jogging back to you, calling for everyone to huddle up. He doesn't talk about the strangers at the gate, though he must notice your pout because he ruffles your hair as you go back to the pitcher's mound.

"Don't worry, little chap!" he tells you enthusiastically. "He'll be about for practice tomorrow!"

Your grin is so wide it practically splits your face in two. You bounce to the pitcher's mound as your first practice batter steps up to plate. You throw two balls too fast for him to react to, then slow it down so he can actually practice swinging.

Practice ends and Jake takes you home. You're so excited about practice tomorrow that you have a hard time going to sleep, but eventually you doze off.

Dave ⇒ Be the out of place kid

You're not out of place. Striders are never out of place. You're always right where you belong, radiating a sense of swag that no one else but a Strider could hope to have. Or at least, that's what you tell yourself, but you aren't really sure what the word swag means and you just know that those other kids are giving you weird looks, staring at the shades you don't want to take off, giving your oversized mit snickers of unkind mirth. You know they are, even though you aren't even half way across the parking lot to the batting shelter.

You don't turn around or run though. It's 'cuz you're too cool to do something as lame as that. Too boss. Though, in retrospect, the fact that your Bro is practically pushing you in front of him might be part of the problem as well. He taught you how to move quickly - he calls it flash stepping - but there is no way you could move fast enough to get around Bro. He would probably laugh if you tried.

Some of the team is already there, just relaxing in the shade of the crude wooden shelter. Jake is there too, and one of the team members is bouncing around him and climbing on him like a monkey hyped up on sugar. You can see his mouth moving from where you are currently, and you mentally brace yourself for the chatter that you pray to the high heavens won't ever be directed at you. You're one awesome dude, but you haven't quite mastered the stoic response that Bro has if you get annoyed.

Jake spots you and Bro approaching and waves, reaching one hand to control the howler monkey babbling away at his side. It's like magic or something, because the kid's mouth snaps shut so fast you're practically burned with the whiplash. You fight a smirk, but it's hard because that was kind of really funny. You don't have time to focus on that though, because suddenly you're face to face with the monkey and three other kids staring wide eyed at you from the benches.

Jake is saying something about baseball and how you'll be great at it, but it's just kind of lost in the sudden mad shuffle your brain is doing to find words to say. You can feel them all staring at you and it makes your insides twist unpleasantly. Your lips part to say something but nothing comes out. Bro has your back though, like he always does when you turn into awkward loser number one. You have had this really, really horrible habit of freezing up in social situations that require you to speak. It's not cool, and every time it happens you feel a weight settle onto your chest. You're so undeserving to be a Strider.

Bro says, his attention directed at Jake, "When are games and shit, bro? I'm gonna need a detailed list."

Jake instantly goes off on a tangent about when games and practices are, explaining how many practices you have to go to to qualify to play in a game, and how the tournament works and blah blah. At this point, you could honestly care less. All you want to do is go home and curl up on the couch and watch a stupid movie. Why are you such a socially inept loser?

Bro and Jake talk a while longer, and you feel stupid for standing like a statue at Bro's side, but you can't help it. As much as you will yourself to, you can't move forward or say anything. You just stand there awkwardly and try not to notice that the jabber monkey is staring at you like some kind of bug under a microscope. His eyes are wide and his mouth is hanging open and man you want to say something snarky and rude. Where does your confidence go in situations like this, really? Bro has not problems with talking to other people, and yet you literally can't even...

Your train of thought is interrupted when the monkey speaks, his face lighting in a grin. "I'm John!" He says, loudly enough to make Bro pause in whatever he was saying. John steps closer to you. He's practically radiating energy. You edge back the tiniest bit, unnerved. "What's your name?"

"Dave." You mutter automatically, your name slipping without permission past your lips. Ok, well, you didn't necessarily want to say that but at least you said something. Your mouth is working, your vocal cords aren't broken. This is a start, Dave, you can do this, just don't say something ridiculously stupid or anything.

John grins at you. "I'm super happy you're joining our team! We're the best baseball team ever, by they was, but it's okay if you're bad at playing because we can just play even better and we'll still be the best! We've won the championship for the past three years, so even though you're new we can still play super awesome! Do you know how to play baseball? Wow, that's a dumb question, of course you know how to play baseball, who doesn't know how to play baseball?"

You decide now would be a really, really bad time to tell him that, no, you actually have no idea how to play baseball.

He continues to babble on, and on, and on, and on... You feel like he will never stop talking! God, where is the off button when you need one, the pause button, something? You're not paying attention to anything that is being said to you when your Bro lays a hand on your head and ruffles your hair. John seems to have stopped talking - frickin' finally - and you think maybe practice is going to start soon. Bro gives you a nod and then turns to leave. You watch him go. You want to run after him and ask him not to go, to stay and watch or maybe just take you home, but you don't let yourself. How uncool would that be? So uncool you would be way out of the realms of Bro-worthy. So you plant your feet in place and face the practice head on.

It becomes clear to everyone within minutes that you have no idea how to play baseball. Though you can throw a ball with a decent sense of aim and can catch them that are thrown at you, your basic knowledge of the game is limited to hitting the ball. And even that you don't know, apparently, because John keeps telling you not to hit it if it's a ball because if you get four balls you get a free walk to first. Confused, you don't hit the ball at all because what the fuck is a ball? How many fucking times can you use the word ball in one sentence and why does it mean two different things to you and John? He then proceeds to tell you to swing at the pitch when it's in your strike zone but you don't understand what a strike zone is, it's like you were suddenly tossed into another country and they're all speaking this language you don't understand and...

Bro, help.

By the time the hour and a half practice is over you've figured out several things. Catching the ball is easy - it's like frickin' second nature to you. You think it might be due to all the strifes you and Bro have, since it forces you to notice where things are and what you're doing and how to react. First base is to the right, not the left. John has no idea how to explain how to play baseball in a way that makes sense.

You're so glad it's over. You expect to see Bro waiting for you when you finally finish, but he's not there. Not a big deal, you think, he'll be here soon. You stand around awkwardly for a while, listening to the others talk while they wait for their own family members to show up and retrieve them. They are all close, you can tell, and you feel like the unfortunate newcomer. Which you are. You are literally the new kid in class that everyone doesn't want to talk to because it takes work to be friends with someone new. Even John, who, at first seemed really excited to talk to you, is now busy avoiding you and talking to other people. This must go back to the whole 'doesn't understand baseball' thing.

It's half an hour after practice. Jake, John, and yourself are the only ones left. Wow, you should've known this would happen. This is why you walk to and from school. Bro is horrible at remembering what time he's supposed to come pick you up. He's always late for everything.

You stand around quietly for a few more minutes - John is pointedly not talking to you now - before Jake glances at his watch and grins at you. "Dirk, the ol' boy, he said this might happen. He said I could just ship you home since it's a bit of a doozy to walk!"

"I can walk it." You tell him, shuffling your feet. You don't really want to get in a car with this guy and be driven home. You wanted Bro to actually remember you and come pick you up. "It's not really that far."

"It's over fifteen miles away, chap." Jake says, ruffling your hair like your Bro does. "I can't let ya walk it, even if you're tough enough for it. Go on, trot along over to the car. Lemme get these ol' sluggers locked up."

You want to argue, maybe protest that Bro will come get you eventually, but he's already gone, scooping up an armful of bats and extra balls and lugging them towards the storage shed used for this field. So, instead, you wander off slowly towards the only car left in the parking lot. John follows you, his teeth nibbling at his lower lip.

You stop by the car, noting that it's almost as shitty and ironic as Bro's, and you move to get in but John interrupts you, bursting out in an almost distressed wail, "You don't know how to play baseball!" He waves at you with both hands, making chopping motions towards you. "I mean! You don't know how to play baseball! How do you not know how to play baseball?"

He looks so exasperated at how you don't know how to play baseball! that you actually smile. Not a small one, either, a full on grin. Or smirk. Or whatever it is that cool Strider boys like you do, but it's there and you're almost laughing. "Bro's not into sports, so I never bothered to learn." You tell him. It's mostly the truth; the only sports Bro has interest in is stuff like figure skating and those olympic gymnasts that do stuff on hoops. Sometimes he watches stuff like swimming or diving, but not very often.

"But it's baseball." He says again, clearly not comprehending why anyone wouldn't know or want to know how to play baseball. "Baseball is my life!" He grabs your shoulders and gives you a small shake, his blue eyes huge as he stares you in the shades. "Please tell me you know who Babe Ruth is! At least him! Please!"

"... Isn't that a candy bar..?" You offer, shrugging his hands off your shoulders and stepping back. He looks horrified and just stares at you for the longest time. You put your hands in the pockets of your shorts uncomfortably. Would he stop staring already? Jeebus, it's not like it's uncommon for someone to not know who Baby Ruth was! Or whatever! It's not your fault!

= Be the shocked John

Yes you are shocked! You have every right to be shocked! He doesn't know who Babe Ruth is! Babe Ruth! How does a person not know who that is? It's bad enough he doesn't know how to play baseball, but he doesn't know who Babe Ruth is!

You're about to lecture him on the amazing life of the most amazing baseball player ever when Jake comes up, a grin on his face as he opens the car door for you both. "Hop in, kiddos, we're gonna take a drive!" Dave climbs in first, then you follow. There isn't a lot of space in the back because of all the stuff - boy does Jake have a lot of hobbies - so you both end up squished in the seat right behind the driver. It's uncomfortable, but you don't mind so much. You're still blown away by the fact that Dave doesn't know who Babe Ruth is!

Jake jumps in the front seat and turns on the car. You're instantly blown away by his obnoxiously loud music. You hate driving with Jake because of his ridiculous choices of song. A weird mix of foreign pop music mixed in with what sounds like a goat dying - but is actually an accordion, Jake tells you - makes for a serious headache!

"Click it or ticket, sprouts!" Jake shouts over the music, grinning over his shoulder as he reverses the car out of the spot. You pull your seat belt tight and proceed to clutch the nearest stable object - the door handle - and hold on for dear life. Dave soon learns the hard way that Jake isn't the safest driver on the planet.

Tires squeal as Jake punches the accelerator and then hits the brakes so hard that Dave, so surprised by this sudden change of forces, literally tumbles onto the floor. You laugh at him, snorting your amusement as he scrambles back into his seat and buckles his seatbelt as quickly as he can. He looks terrified and you cover your mouth with your hand as you keep laughing at him. Yep! That's exactly how your first car ride with Jake was! Ha ha!

Jake swerves around a corner, one tire bouncing over the curb as he cuts it too short. Dave presses against you with the momentum, then flies the other way as you struggle to keep your balance.

"Tally ho!" Jake yelps above the blaring music as he barely makes the light, shooting through the intersection at the last second. He squeels around another turn, this time launching your weight into Dave's. He grunts and tries to shuffle away so you're less squashed, but you abruptly get slammed the opposite direction. Your head slams into the glass.

"Ow, Jake!" You shout, shoving Dave with your elbow. He wiggles away from you, wincing and rubbing his head - you think maybe he cracked it on your shoulder. "Slow down!"

"Sorry, mateys!" Jake replies, slamming on the breaks. You jerk forward, the seat belt crushing your abdomen. "We're here anyways!" He leaps out of the car and you stare out the window at the tall building before you. You've never been in this part of town before! You unbuckle and get out of the car too, grinning up at the building.

"Wow, Dave!" You exclaim. "That's your house?"

He follows you and points, way up towards the top of the building. "We live on the fourteenth floor."

"Ooooh!" You mutter and start counting the windows to figure out which floor is the fourteenth floor. You lose count and have to start again; you have to tilt your head up really far to see that high!

Dave shoves at your shoulder to get your attention. "Wanna see?" He asks, digging into the pocket of his shorts and pulling out a key. He gets his own key? That's so cool! Your dad won't let you have a key to your house. He says you'll misplace it and then he'll have to change all the locks so no one can get in.

You look at Jake. "Can I?" You beg. You've never been in a building this big before. You wonder what it looks like from way high up? Maybe you can see your house from there!

"Go on, then." Jake says with a nod. "Just don't dilly dally for long! Your Pops'll be calling me up like the worry wart he is!"

You grin and follow as Dave leads you into the building. The lobby is kinda musty smelling and it's dark, but Dave doesn't seem all that bothered so you shrug it off and keep going. He opens a door for you, and you step into the stairwell. Dave starts upwards. You're panting after two sets of stairs.

"Daavve." You whine, stopping at the top of a flight as he turns to trudge up the next. "How many stairs are there?"

"One hundred and ninety-four." He replies, stopping to look down at you where you're standing.

You stick your tongue out at him. "You actually counted? Nerd!"

He shrugs and turns back around to keep climbing. "Bro told me." He says. You hurry up the steps to catch up with him so you're right behind him.

"Does your Bro tell you everything?" You ask. "I wish I had a Bro. Or maybe a Sis. I don't have either one! Dad says he'll never have anymore kids!"

Dave's head turns towards you, his strange shades tilted in the direction of your face. "Why won't your dad have more kids?"

Rude! He totally didn't answer your question! That's not ok. You shrug it off, though, and answer his question instead. "He says the only one he wants to have babies with is Mommy, but she left a long time ago."

He rounds the bend of yet another set of stairs, his head forward again. "Left?"

You nod. "A long time ago, he said, after I was born. I haven't seen her, ever! I don't even remember what she looks like."

He looks at you again, and there is and oddly knowledgeable twist to his face. Even though you can't see his eyes, you know he knows something you don't. You're not sure how to feel. "I don't remember my mom, either." He tells you.

"Really? Did she leave, too?"

"She's dead."

This stops you dead in your tracks. You stare at him with wide eyes, startled. You've never known someone with a dead parent before. "She died?" You say in shock.

He stops on the landing above you, annoyed. "Yeah. Mom and dad both died in a car accident a while ago." He shrugs like it's not a big deal, but wow! How is that not a big deal? How does he say it so blandly?

"Aren't you sad? Isn't it lonely?"

"I have Bro." He motions for your to keep coming, so you do. "C'mon. We're almost at the top. Jake is waiting for you."

You try to imagine what it would be like if you didn't have your dad. If all you had was some other relative, like a brother or a sister, to take care of you. It might not be so bad? But you'd miss your dad. You wonder if you'd be lonely? Maybe. It seems like Dave's Bro is always gone! Even today you think he was supposed to come pick up Dave, but he never did! Did he just forget or was he busy? Was Bro always like this?

You finally reach the very top floor as you think. That was a long climb. Your legs ache and you hope the view is worth it. Dave lets you both into the apartment and you immediately push past him to find a window. The shades are drawn, but that doesn't stop you for long. You toss them aside and press your face against the glass. Wow! Yep, the climb was definitely worth it! "Look, look, Dave!" You exclaim. "I can see my house from here!"

He sidles up next to you, shoving your with his elbow so he can actually see out the window. "Which one?" He asks, leaning towards the glass. "All I see is a bunch of houses that look exactly the same."

"Right there. There! See the house with the tree? The really tall tree? The one that is totally bigger than every other tree?" You tap the glass urgently. "It's hard to miss, it's kind of gimungous!"

He turns towards you. "Gimungous. Really."

You stick your tongue out at him. "It's a word!"

"It's not."

You ignore him for now. But it's totally a word. "No, ok, look." You tap the glass again. "Ok, just... Right there."

"The one... by all the other houses that look exactly the same."

You punch him in the shoulder. "Okay, fine. Follow that street," you point to a wide main street that is to the right of his building. "One, two, three... Seven streets up that street." You wait for him to nod his affirmation. He's with you now. "Now go left one two... eleven houses. That one's mine!"

He bobs his head as he counts, his forehead pressed against the window as if that would give him a better view. You don't know how he can really see anything through those crappy shades. You imagine it to be very dark, especially since it's starting to get dark out.

Finally, Dave nods. "I see it. Looks like every other house to me."

You punch him again. "But it's not like every other house because it's my house! Anyways. Jake's waiting for me." You turn around and walk back towards the door. Wow, his apartment is really messy! Before you were so excited to see the view that you didn't notice, but now it's really obvious as you almost trip over a tangle of wires. There are strange, colourful puppets everywhere, as well as a strange mishmash of electronics scattered on the floor and posters of strangely dressed animated characters on the walls. You glance into the kitchen. There are a lot of swords in there! And some broken glass. Dave's brother doesn't clean very often, does he?

It doesn't matter though! You wave cheerfully to Dave and you're on your way. Thankfully the climb downstairs is much shorter and much less tolling than your trek upstairs.

⇒ Be Dave

You are now Dave.

You feel a strange sense of emptiness when the door closes behind John.

It is now after four in the morning. You ended up crashing on the couch, watching reruns of Adventure Time and Spongebob until you fell asleep. You're startled awake by the door to your apartment slamming open. Your Bro is standing there, looking disheveled and smelling gross and sweaty like he always does after he goes to work. You glance at the standard digital clock sitting by the television. He's kind of late, though. It's usually closer to two in the morning that he comes home.

"Bro," you murmur sleepily, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. Your shades are somewhere on the floor, like they always are when you crash on the couch.

He looks at you, but you feel like there is something off. Though it's hard to tell with his shades on, you know he's looking at you. But you don't feel like he's really looking at you. Through you, maybe. You're more tired than you thought you were.

"Lil' bro," he slurs, his voice thick and foggy. He always sounds like this when he gets home late, and you think maybe he's tired. "You should be in bed."

You nod. Yeah, you should be, but you don't want to get up. The couch is warm and comfortable, and all you want to do is slip off back to sleep.

"Common, bro." He says, stumbling over to you. You lift your arms, the universal sign for 'pick me up.' "Dave, you're too big." You don't move. Too much effort to walk to your room. "Dave. You're ten years old, you little shit." He glares at you from over the top of his shades.

"Bro." You whine. Usually you get your way when it's early in the morning and both of you are too tired to be really awake. Just because you're ten years old doesn't mean you're too old to be carried to bed. You're totally still young enough to let Bro carry you.

"Dave." He sighs, then shakes his head. "Seriously, you're getting too big for this." He reaches for you, and you know you've won. He scoops you into his arms and you snuggle into his chest. Yep. Definitely not too big for this, not yet.

Even though you wouldn't admit it if asked, you always liked it when your brother carries you. He's so much bigger, and warm, and strong. You would give anything to grow up just like him.

You're already drifting off into sleep when Dirk settles you on your bed and tugs your super awesome batman comforter over your shoulders.


	2. Chapter 2

== It is way too early for this

It is way too early for anything. It's way too early to be alive. You moan quietly and roll over, trying to shield your eyes from the sun that is invasively shining in your room. You must not have closed the shades last night when you went to bed. You rub your weary eyes and curl tighter under the warm covers. Except you fell asleep on the couch, and Bro brought you into your room. Which explains the sun. Bro always forgets to close your curtains.

You try in vain to go back to sleep, but you inevitably fail. The sun is bright and aggravating; it's making your stuffy room too hot to handle. You roll over and kick your feet, knocking your heavy blanket to the floor. Your body complains; you're never up this early, please just go back to bed. You don't. Instead, you shuffle into the kitchen, stepping over your Bro's weird puppets and swords. You're hoping that maybe there is some apple juice in the fridge, or that possibly Bro went shopping and brought fresh groceries home. The likelihood is small - your brother hates grocery shopping - but occasionally you find something other than old take out leftovers.

You find an entire jug of apple juice in the refrigerator, to your bewilderment and joy. You also find a note. It's from your brother, you can tell right away. He always writes these little notes to you in bright pink pen with curly letters and the i's dotted with hearts. He always laughs when you tell him it looks stupid, and tells you that it's completely ironic. You obviously just aren't old enough to understand yet.

Little bro, it starts. Went out for the day, but I'll be back sometime tonight. You have ball practice at three, so be sure you're dressed and ready for it. Jake and the sprout will come pick you up. There's cash on the table, so maybe go down to the gas station and get something. Or order pizza.

The note cuts off abruptly, just like your brother's notes always do. He almost always ends them talking about food. The jug of apple juice, which you had been holding while you read the note stuck to the fridge, sloshed gently as you set it on the floor. Grabbing the note, you went back to your room and dropped it in the drawer of your night stand. It wasn't creepy that you kept all the notes from your brother. It wasn't creepy at all.

You wander back to the kitchen where you AJ loyally waits for you on the floor. Scooping it up, you whisper something about how it is your best friend and your favourite company, to be ironic, of course. You set it on the table and go to get a cup. There are no clean cups. Well, this isn't surprising, but it is annoying. The jug is too full for you to drink straight from it, too. Irritated, you drag a chair to the overflowing sink and clamber up. You're tall enough that you can reach the sink, but not tall enough to reach the sink for long periods of time comfortably.

The sink is a mess of cups and silverware. There aren't any plates because you and Bro usually just eat stuff straight out of the container it came in, or you use paper plates. You grab a cup and twist on the hot water. It gushes out, gurgling over the surfaces of scratched plastic, spraying your arms and face with chilled water. You shift the items around until the spray of water goes straight down into the drain instead of slanting into your face.

There isn't any soap on the ledge of the sink, like normal households. There's a soap container, shaped like one of your brother's weird, long nosed puppets, but you don't remember the last time there was actual soap in it. Instead, you just rinse the cup, making sure you rub off all the sticky leftover bits at the bottom with you fingers. The water, which has slowly morphed from frigid to scalding, turns your skin bright red, but you only grimace and ignore the pain flashing up your arm. Your Bro says it's healthy to take doses of pain sometimes.

When you're done washing the cup, you flip off the water and shove the chair back over to the kitchen table. There are three others exactly like this one on each side of the table, but you and your brother never use them. When you were younger, he told you that he brought them from the old house, before you parents died. You think, maybe, since your brother remembers your parents and probably misses them, he doesn't like to use the table.

You pour yourself some juice. Finally. It's delicious on your taste buds, and wakes you up more than the scorching water did on your bare arms. You're about to take another swallow when the phone rings.

Your cup lowers slowly as your eyes slide to the corded phone hooked to the wall next to the fridge. That phone almost never gets calls. Bro only keeps it because he gets a discount on the internet bill if he has a phone line/internet combo. Or so he tells you. Setting your cup down on the table, you stroll over to the phone and stand up on your tippy toes to knock it down; your brother is so tall, he always tends to hang things a lot higher than your head. It falls and bounces on the end of it's cord. You pick it up.

"Sup. Strider residence." You're proud to say you answer the phone almost exactly like your brother does.

"Hi, is Dave there?" You don't recognize the voice on the other end of the phone.

"Sup." You repeat. Because it wasn't obvious that this was you and not your brother. Your voices don't sound anything alike. Bro says it's because you haven't hit puberty yet.

"Oh, hey, Dave! Wow, your voice sounds really crackly over the telephone, it's kinda funny! You don't sound like you at all!"

Wow, you hate talking on the phone. "Who is this, exactly?"

"Oh, sorry! Dad always tells me it's rude not to say who I am when I call people on the phone, but I forget sometimes! This is John! You know, from baseball practice?"

Oh. It's that guy. What was he yelling at you about before you got into Jake's death trap? You mean car. Right. Before you got into Jake's car? Candy bars? Something like that. "Oh. Sup, John."

"You sure do say that word a lot! Hey, so we have practice this afternoon and I wanted to know if, I dunno, maybe you wanted to play together a little before we went to practice? I could come over to your apartment again or maybe Jake could pick you up and bring you to my house or, I dunno. Maybe?"

His voice goes up a couple of octaves as he talks, as though he is getting anxious. You casually hold the phone away from your ear. "You want to come over and hang out with me?"

"Yes! I mean, unless you're busy or something! I wouldn't want to intrude or anything, I was just wondering..." He keeps rambling about how he doesn't want to come if you're busy or if he'll be bothering you as you stand there, a little star struck. When was the last time a kid your age wanted to play with you? Or, maybe you should ask, when was the last time a kid your age called you on the phone? You didn't give John your phone number. Did he, like, call Jake or something and beg him for it? Is that a thing that happens?

"You can come over." You interrupt.

His long winded rant cuts off short. "Huh?"

"I said you can come over, if you want."

"Oh! Cool! Awesome! Jake's gonna come pick me up in half an hour, if that's ok with you? So forty-five minutes or something?"

You nod, and then realize that he can't see you. "Yeah. That's fine, I guess."

"Awesome!" He hangs up the phone without saying goodbye, and you get the feeling that he was too excited to remember.

Well. You're having someone come over to your apartment. For the first time in ever. For longer than two minutes. How do you have people over? Is there some kind of special ritual? Or do you just?...let them in the door and then what? Stand around or? You just don't know.

Instead of thinking extensively about what you're going to do when John gets here, you decide to change your clothes and pick up all the stuff on your floor. There's a start, anyways.

.v.

== Be the excited one

You're not excited! Ok, maybe you're a little excited. Or really excited. You're currently standing on your couch, peering out the window. Jake is supposed to be here soon, and you want to leave right away! You're happy that Dave told you you could come over - though it was a little strange that he didn't ask his brother first - and you don't want to waste a minute!

Your dad walks into the room, his voice stern when he speaks. "John, where should your feet be?"

You grin at him sheepishly and jump off the couch. Right. No shoed feet on the couch. You forgot. "Sorry! I thought I wasn't wearing shoes?" He knows you're lying, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he steps over to ruffle your hair while discreetly checking over your shoulder for mud marks on his nice, clean couch.

"What's got you all in a tizzy, champ?" He asks.

"I'm going over to a friend's house with Jake!" You remind him. You already asked him an hour ago if it was ok. He's such a big doof sometimes, pretending like he doesn't remember. "Dave's house."

Your dad grins at you and sits down on the couch. "I know, I know. Relax, son. He'll be here soon."

You bounce on the heels of your feet, energy tingling in your fingertips. Sometimes you get like this. Usually it's when you eat a lot of sugar, but you don't remember eating anything sugary today. Though you might've taken a cookie out of the jar without your dad seeing. Just one. Or two. Who's counting, anyways?

"You should come to my ball practice and meet him! You'd like him. He's kinda nerdy, though. He wears these big, pointy shades and he's so pale," You gesture to your eyes, making shapes over them like pointy glasses "...and Dad he doesn't know who Babe Ruth is!" You throw your hands in the air to emphasize exactly how important it is that he doesn't know about Babe Ruth.

He ruffles your hair again. "Sorry, Ace. I've got a meeting that I have to be at around that time."

You deflate with disappointment. It seems like your dad is always working! He works at home, sometimes, on the fancy laptop he totes back and forth, but more often than not he has important business meetings or trips to go on. When he leaves for the weekend, Jake comes over and stays with you. You don't mind, but you wish your dad came to your ball practices more often. He tries his best to make every game you have every season, but he can't make them all. You grin even though you're disappointed. "It's ok! Maybe he can come over sometime and you can bake us a cake or something?"

Your dad's face lights up in a huge smile and he tugs you into a hug. "Nothing would make me happier, kiddo!" For some reason your dad gets really happy when you mention baking. There is a shrill beeping outside your house, and you try to wrestle your way out of your father's hug.

"Dad! Jake's here, c'mon, let me go, I'm gonna be late!"

He laughs at you as you try to wriggle away, and easily captures you in a headlock, noogying his knuckles into your hair. "Late for what? Where do you think you're going?"

"Dad!" You press on the arm trapping your head and squirm. You always forget how strong he is! Even though he sits around doing paperwork all the time and you're out playing sports and climbing and running, he's still a lot bigger than you are! "Please, dad, c'mon, I gotta go tell Dave about Babe Ruth and how to play baseball!"

With a final chuckle, he lets you go and you race for the door. He follows you, yelling something about playing nice and how proud he is, but you can't hardly hear him over the raucous music blasting from Jake's car. You climb in and shout over the blare, "Hi, Jake!"

"Howdy, squirt!" He shouts back, throwing the car into reverse as he waved to your dad through the windshield. "So we're going over to Dirk's place, yeah?"

"His name is Dave!"

"I know! I mean his older brother! Dirk Strider. I met the chap when we were in high school. We had all kinds of scallywagging adventures together."

The only word you really catch is 'scallywagging' and you're pretty darn sure that he's not using it quite right. You don't bother to correct him, though, because he throws the car into gear and speeds off, almost taking out Mrs. Smith, the elderly old lady living next to you, who is trying to get her mail.

You get there in record breaking time, all thanks to Jake, who squeals into the small parking lot next to the building and cuts off another car, taking the only open space. The person in the car honks angrily, but you and Jake just smile and wave at him as he speeds off to find a different, less convenient spot to park.

Your cousin twists the key and the car silences. You never realize how loud Jake's music is until he shuts off the car! "Come on, Jake!" You say, a little louder than necessary. You leap out of the car and hustle towards the door into the building. He follows, making sure to lock the car, but at a much slower pace. Anxiously, you dance from foot to foot at the glass doors leading inside. "Jake!" You whine.

He laughs at you, but doesn't hurry up at all. He's staring up the side of the building, a strange look on his face. You don't really care. He just needs to hurry up! You only have a couple of hours to explain the intense and vigorous sport of baseball to Dave before practice starts!

Jake passes you into the apartment building, and you let go of the door as you chase after him. He knows exactly where he's going, and you ignore the fact that that is kind of weird. He says he knows Dave's brother, after all, so why should it be odd?

"Still smells like shit in here." He mutters under his breath, but you ignore him.

"Let's go, Jake." You grab hold of the hem of his shirt and tug him towards the stairs. Oh, wow, you forgot how many there were. What was the number Dave told you? You don't actually care, but it would impress Jake if you remembered!

He smiles at you and ruffles your hair like he always does. Gosh, he's so cheerful all the time. You both start the daunting climb to the top floor; man, why does Dave have to live so high up? Ugh! If you're gonna visit him more often, he's gonna have to move to a lower floor or something, because this is so time consuming!

== Be Jake

Why in the world would you be Jake? Last you checked, this story was about someone else and you were just a helpful side character! But you suppose that doesn't matter right now because you're too busy trying to keep up with the little scamp who is your cousin, John! My, my, he's a rambunctious little shit sometimes! Of course, you use the term "little shit" in the most adoring way possible.

Right now, you're climbing the stairs up to good ol' Dirk Strider's apartment. Golly, you were surprised when he showed up at the field the other day! Sure, you knew that a new little rascal was joining your ball team, but you didn't connect the names until you saw your old pal. He looked exactly like you remembered him, sharp sunglasses, and hair dolled up real fancy. The youngster with him, Dave, you didn't remember so much. Of course, you remember who he was, of course you remembered that, but you hadn't seen him since he was a wee chap, hardly big enough to toddle on his own.

It's at this point that you would normally daze off into a dramatic flash back, but you're too busy trying to keep up with your cousin! That will have to wait till some other time, though it's sure to be a dramatic spectacle when the truth comes out in full!

So you follow John up the stairs. He's climbing them quickly, as though he can't wait to get up to Dave's apartment. You think it's funny, since they just met and all, but you bet they're gonna be great friends as time goes on! It would be awesome if they could be in the same school, or even the same class, come this fall. You think John is going into fifth grade? Or is it fourth? You're not really sure! Either way, he's growing up awfully fast!

It takes you almost five minutes, but you finally reach the peak of the pinnacle of stairs. John is practically glowing with excitement as he leads you to Dirk's door - he lives in the same apartment as you remember - and knocks. And keeps knocking. Obnoxious little shit. You swear, sometimes you could just knock his brains out he's so obnoxious! His dad tells you that he gets it from you, but you have a hard time believing that!

"Dave!" John shouts, pounding on the door with his fist. You better keep him quiet, or the grumpy old lady who lives across the hall will come out and yell nasty things at you again!

You flick him across the ear, which you know he hates. "You're being a downright nutter, shouting in the hallway like that. Didn't your dad teach you any better?"

He's turning around to face you when the door opens a crack, then a little more, to reveal the youngest Strider. He's wearing the same shades he wore yesterday, a miniature version of Dirk's, though his hair is not nearly as coifed as his elder brother's always was. One of Dirk's best features was his hair's natural ability to defy gravity no matter the weather or circumstance!

"Sup." Dave says, waving shortly. He's a little more awkward than the suave Dirk, you can tell already, but maybe he'll grow into being a 'swagalicious Strider' as he ages!

John practically shoves past his new friend, already talking a blue streak about baseball and practice and Babe Ruth and Alex Rodrigues among other things. Golly, you love your cousin, but he's such a little butt head sometimes!

Dave doesn't seem to mind, though, and he steps away from the door to follow him further into the apartment. Well, don't mind if you do! You invite yourself inside. "Blimey." You mutter to yourself. This apartment hasn't changed at all since the last day you saw it...

== Suddenly character flop to Dave so you don't spoil the story!

You are now suddenly Dave! You would be frustrated by the sudden change of character, but you're too busy trying to keep up with John's talking. He's got you sitting on the floor across from him, surrounded by tangles of wires, as he uses your brother's really creepy puppets to demonstrate how to play baseball.

"...so if the batter throws three balls, and they go into your strike zone, and you don't hit them, that's a strike, see? But if he throws them and they aren't in your strike zone then they're balls, and if he throws four balls you get a walk to first, so if someone is really bad at throwing, just let them walk you to first! Also, if you get hit with the ball, you get a walk to first, but you can't like step into the ball or anything, it has to just hit you while you're standing there. If you hit the ball and get to run to first, then you have to remember that first is the only base that you can run off of, you have to stop on the other two..." He rambles.

In all honesty, you're just getting a little dizzy and confused as he speaks. You're still not completely sure what a strike zone is, and every time John says 'balls' you snort a laugh and he glares at you before continuing. He meanders off onto a side trail about innings, and you wonder to yourself if innings are the same things as quarters during a basketball game.

"Dave?" He breaks into your thoughts by saying your name. "Are you even listening to me? If you're gonna be a good baseball player, ya gotta pay attention!"

"Can we just play video games or something?" You blurt out. His blue eyes go wide.

"That's blasphemy against the game of baseball!" He shouts, jabbing a finger into your face.

"You don't even know what the hell blasphemy is!" You counter, though you certainly don't yell, no siree. You're way too cool for something like that.

He glares at you and flicks you on the nose. "I do so! Dad made me go look it up and everything. He says that looking words you don't know up in the dictionary makes you smarter."

"I don't even think we own a dictionary." You mutter, sneering at him. Who says you need to look stuff up to be smart? Your Bro is smart enough, and you don't think he's read an actual book in years. Well. He swears left and right that manga counts as real books, but you have a hard time believing him since they're mostly pictures.

"How do you not own a dictionary?" He questions. "It's like not having a Bible in your house! Everyone has a Bible in their house!"

You wrinkle your nose at him, taking your turn to flick him on the nose. "You're wrong. Not everyone has a Bible in their house."

"Yuh huh!" He argues back, rubbing his nose.

"We don't." You tell him.

He looks shocked. "Dave. You don't have a Bible in your house? How do you not have a Bible in your house?"

You shrug. "Dunno. We just never did." You think maybe you did when your parents were alive, but it's long gone by now. In fact, most of the stuff that was in your home when your parents were alive is gone now. You remember, sort of, when you were really little, Bro selling things to pay the rent. That was a long time ago, though.

John just shakes his head, then turns his attention back to the topic of baseball.

== Since the moment has passed, you can be Jake again

You are, again, being Jake. Once you got over the puzzled shock of how the apartment looks exactly like you remembered it, you settled down on the futon that served as a couch to listen to the boys talk back and forth. In all honesty, your cousin did most of the talking. He is obsessed with baseball, and knows the ins and outs of it better than you do. You think that one of these days, he'll be one of the greatest players ever! Today, however, he's just an overly hyped up fan.

You listen quietly until it's time for you to go. Practice isn't going to run itself, after all! The little chumps need an adult to structure and lead them during practice, to give them sound advice on the game and life in general.

At least, that's what you were told when you attended the coaches' meeting two weeks ago.

Well, whatever! You're off to corral the rascals into a decent practice.


	3. Chapter 3

== Be Dirk

Hell fuckin' no you ain't bein' Dirk. He's occupied. Go be someone else, ya shit.

== Wow, fine. Be Jake instead.

Instead, you are now Jake, who is currently trying to keep control of a rowdy bunch of baseball playing boys. Though, they aren't so rowdy now. They're actually being quite calm! You think maybe it has something to do with the heat, but you could be mistaken! It's only early May, and already the sun has amped up the temperature to sweltering. You, however, are not affected by something so bloody silly as weather!

Instead, you toss back some cool water, flick the sweat off your brow, and clap your hands together, getting the attention of the boys huddled in the shade of the wooden lean-to. "All righty, lads! Hustle up and grab your gear, we've got some practicing to get a move on!"

There are simultaneous groans from your small team. John, who is laying sprawled on the cool concrete, kicks his feet and whines, "It's too hot, Jake. I don't wanna."

Dave, who sits squashed uncomfortably between Mikey and Sam, kicks at John's shoulder, point-blanking a stare at him through the pointed shades he wears. John glares right back at him, weakly whacking at the blond's boney legs with one arm. It's really funny to you, actually. Dave's been around for about a week, only three practices, and he and John have already hit it off like old chums reunited! They bicker and talk and play together like they've known each other since they were born.

It reminds you of yourself and a certain older Strider, back when you were youngsters, chomping at the bit for adventure and excitement! Though, of course, you were a bit older when you hit it off. Not nearly as young as your cousin and Dirk's little brother. Closer to thirteen or fourteen, maybe. Twelve. You don't actually remember! Dirk was always better at remembering things like that, you suppose.

That was a long time ago, you think. A long, long time ago.

Wow, your train of thought is bordering on morose! You better stop thinking about it before you get all sad and depressed! You wouldn't be a very good role model for the little chaps if you let yourself get all mopey. Instead, you offer, "Our first game is this Saturday! We have to practice hard if we're gonna whip the other team!"

John is up quicker than lightning. "Which team?" He demands, excitement glimmering in his eyes. "Which team, Jake, which team?"

"I'd have to check the schedule, Johnny-boy-o. But that doesn't matter, right now. What matters is practicing!"

Your cousin bounces on the balls of his feet, raring to go, despite the heat. "Yeah! We gotta practice real hard for the next three practices if we're gonna win! We gotta win!" He turns to Dave. "You need to put on the catcher's gear, this time! It's mandatory."

Dave shakes his head. "Maybe I don't wanna be catcher."

John laughs, as though it's a joke. "You'd be the best catcher ever, though. So you have to be the catcher." You roll your eyes at him. He gets ideas, sometimes, and then doesn't let go of them. He's more stubborn than a mule!

You do, however, agree with him on this matter. "Dave, you should give it a shot. Always try something once!"

He doesn't respond, but you can tell by the pull of his brow that he's not very happy. You trot over to the bag that you keep the catcher's gear in. The catcher's mask, mitt, shin guards, chest protector, and cup are all inside. You did your best to wash them, but they still stink a little. They've seen many a game, though, and they'll do the job! "Here, Dave, try em' on."

He levels what you think is a glare at John, but doesn't utter another noise of complaint. Atta boy! You send the other boys off to warm up while he struggles with the buckles and straps. He forgoes the cup with a crinkle of his nose, tossing it aside and instead pulling on the shin guards. John is there to help him, showing him exactly where to buckle it and how tight it should be and where it should lay to be just right for protection. Gosh, your cousin sure is bossy.

You leave them to it, and go watch the boys toss balls back and forth.

== Go be Dave. Sweaty, unhappy Dave.

You started sweating the second the disgusting, smelly gear touched your legs. Of course, you had already been sweating before, but now it was pouring off of you in buckets. Well, probably not buckets. But you feel really hot, and sweaty, and sticky, and gross.

"Dave!" John says, tugging on one of the straps wrapped around the back of your calf. "You didn't listen to me! It has to be tighter than this or it'll slide around when we're making plays!"

You roll your eyes and make quick work of the strap, tightening it. "It's not my fault! It's broken, it won't stay tight."

He shakes his head at you, then proceeds to show you how the chest protector works. You catch a whiff of something particularly disgusting when he slides it over your head and buckles the right side for you. "Ugh, John. How many sweaty kids have worn this thing?"

John shrugs. "Dunno. I think Jake has had it since he played baseball."

"Ugh. That's disgusting." You pinch your nose closed, trying not to think about how utterly gross this is.

"Don't be such a baby about it." John chastises, circling around you to clip the left side of it. "Now for the helmet." He reaches for your shades.

Oh hell no. You jerk away from him. "I'm not taking off my shades."

He glares at you. "You have to. They'll cut your skin or break if I try to put the helmet over them." He reaches for you again.

"If you had told me that in the first place, I wouldn't have agree to put on this stupid gear anyways!" You take a step back, slapping his hands away. "No."

"You can't wear them during games, anyways! So take them off." He puts his hands on his hips, and you sneer at him.

"Not. Happening." You use the same tone your Bro uses when he tells you you can't do something. It always drives you crazy because he sounds so stuck up and bossy and you basically just want to punch him in the face.

John makes a grab for them and you both tumble to the ground, him trying desperately to remove your shades and you grappling with his wrists, trying just as desperately to keep them intact. He shouts something at you, but you don't pay any attention. Somehow you've ended up flat on your back with him on top of you and this is so not...

Jake is there in a flash, scooping his wriggling cousin off of you. You sit up and take inventory of yourself. You're sweaty, and dusty, and your left elbow is dripping blood sluggishly down your arm. Jake is glaring at you while simultaneously holding John aloft by his armpits.

"Blimey! What the bloody fuck do you two tossers think you're doing?!" He shakes John, who is kicking his feet and wiggling to be let down. The other boy stills instantly, grumbling about you being a stupid head or something. You notice out of the corner of your eye that the other boys are scooting closer, not quite surrounding where the three of you are, but close enough to be within earshot.

Defensiveness rises up inside of you, and you open your mouth to make your case, but then quickly snap it shut. You're wilting under Jake's deep green glare, and you can't help it. Bro gives you that look sometimes, and it's actually really scary, especially when he looks over his shades at you.

Jake sets John down and smacks him on the rear end, causing the younger to yelp, but after the startled noise, he instantly shuts his mouth. "Both of you are being stupid. John, it doesn't matter if Dave removes those blasted shades or doesn't, and Dave, it won't matter if you take them off. You won't be more or less cool..." he says cool like a curse word and you cringe. "...if you don't wear them. Now get over it, take off the God forsaken sun visors, and bugger up like a man!"

Ok, wow, no. This is not ok. Not ok. A thousand times not ok. So not ok you don't even know how to describe other than not ok. But you do it anyway. Slowly. Agonizingly. Because you don't want to, don't want to, this isn't fucking fair. You slide them off your face and proceed to glare at Jake before setting them aside and reaching for the catcher's helmet.

== Be Jake

Oh. Right. It's been such a long time since you saw Dave that you didn't remember his oddly coloured irises. Which is probably why he hesitated to take off his glasses - and caused such a fuss about it. They are quite a startling colour, after all, bright red with flecks of gold around the edges. If you hadn't already known, though, admittedly, it did slip your mind, you'd be utterly flabbergasted.

It does startle the boys on the team, however. They seem to have made their way closer as the spectacle peaked, and now they are staring openly at Dave, who is trying his best to keep his eyes out of plain sight. Though that is hard! The black catcher's mask only seems to emphasize the odd colour.

They start whispering, poking each other and pointing discretely, though probably the opposite of discretely. Mikey giggles and whispers, rather loudly, "He looks like the mutated rat I saw at the pet store once!"

Sam laughs, and pushes Mikey's shoulder. "Mutated? You mean screwed up?"

Ok, not ok, reverse, rewind, this is so not going right. Your annoyance at the two scuffling over something stupid blocked out your good judgement, and now it's just going wrong completely. Gosh, you're dumb, dumb as a brick, brainless... You have to do some damage control. Instead of actually doing useful damage control, you just order everyone to take their places in the field. The two extra boys and yourself will be the batters and...

== Now go be the startled cousin.

Who wouldn't be a little surprised? You've never seen eyes like that before! Red eyes. Bright, candy red! It's so.. so.. Cool! Like, wow, you haven't seen anything more awesome before! It's like Dave could shoot lasers out of his eyes or like he's some kind of superhero that controls fire or lava or something and, gosh you wish you had eyes that coolio!

You want to tell him, but Jake is ushering everyone about so quickly and pointedly that you don't get the chance to. You're swept into pitching and then pitching again and then running a play where someone is trying to steal third base and then you're pitching and hitting and...

Then practice is over. It's hot, you're sweaty, and Dave seems intent on ignoring you. He throws the mask onto the ground and slips on his shades, running a hand through his hair. It spikes upwards with sweat. You move towards him to say something, but he turns away pointedly. Oh.

Everyone jokes and laughs around you, and it seems as though Dave isn't the only one intentionally ignoring someone. Except the others on your team aren't pointedly ignoring you. They're ignoring Dave. But not completely ignoring him.

Mikey and Sam are leaving to go get into Sam's mom's car when Mikey 'accidently' bumps into Dave, knocking him to the ground. You cringe. "Oops." Mikey says tauntingly. "My bad, freak." He and Sammy jog away laughing. Jake, who would've put a stop to this if he had seen, was picking up baseballs in the outfield.

He picks himself up, and you can see blood on one of his knees. Oh. He catches you staring, and you think he glares at you before turning away. This is your fault, you can practically hear him say. And you think that it is, probably. You don't understand, though. You think his eyes are super cool! What's so funny about them that Mikey has to shove Dave around?

Dave's brother doesn't show up again, so Jake offers him a ride home. He can't say no to Jake, who insists, and hesitantly climbs into the cruddy car. You climb in after him, nudging his shoulder and whispering before Jake has a chance to get in, "Sorry, Dave."

He doesn't reply, and maintains his cold shoulder until you pull up to his building. You scoot out, and he comes out after you. He quickly absconds to his building, and, as a desperate attempt to get his forgiveness, you shout, "I think your eyes are awesome!"

He hesitates for just a second, his back to you, then hurries into the building. You think you saw a hint of a smile on his face.

== Now can you be Dirk?

Yes, fuck, now you can be Dirk.

== Be Dirk before he changes his mind

You are now Dirk. You are now done being occupied. In fact, you're walking out of the hotel where you were occupied, tucking a satisfactory amount of cash into your wallet as you walk. What were you occupied with? Pft. That doesn't matter, all that matters is you can pay the rent now.

Thinking about rent leads to you thinking about the apartment you live in, which leads you to think about Dave. What time is it? You turn on your shitty truck and glance at the glowing digital clock. 3:46, in the PM. Eh. His baseball practice ended about half an hour ago. He's probably already back at the apartment, safe and sound. You're glad Jake offered to give him rides.

You're tempted to let yourself think of Jake. You don't let yourself think of Jake. You have other things to think about, and, besides, it would be ridiculously pathetic of you to think of him after this long. Or at least, think of him in more detail than just a passing thought.

Whatever. Moving on. It's been a few days since you were home. You should head back, see Dave, make sure he's doing ok. Check on him, make sure he's eating and parental shit like that. Maybe strife him. The kid's been getting better at that, much better. He's still kind of slow, not as speedy as you would like him to be, but he's getting there. He hasn't even hit puberty yet, he still has plenty of time for his muscles to grow and to refine his skill.

You hum to yourself as you start driving. You're actually several hours away from your hometown. You tend to do your business in farther away cities. You flip on the radio. Even though you own a shitty truck, you had put away a little money for a while so you could buy it a sick stereo system. Now you could be that dick who blasts loud music in Wal-Mart parking lots on busy days, one of your biggest goals in life.

Next to, of course, sending Dave off to college with at least enough money to cover several semesters, it's your biggest dream.

Endless miles of road pass you by, and you tap the steering wheel to the shitty rap blaring out of your speakers. It'll be good to be home, you think. You enjoy the travel, but it's nice to return to a place you can call your own.

It's after nine by the time you are weaving through the parking garage that is located next to your building. Usually you try to get a spot snug near the entrance, in case you have to make a quick break to your vehicle, but you didn't have any luck this time. That's what you get for arriving at such a late hour. All the Mexicans with seven kids are already home from work, all the single college students have the music blaring as they muddle through homework, the old people who claim they can live on their own have already curled up on their Lay-Z-Boys with pet cats curled in their laps, and all the other oddballs have already settled down for the night. As in, all the parking spaces close to the building are taken. Those are gone first, always.

You trudge to the elevator and ride it downwards to the first floor, then make your way to the front door of your building. The night guard, who starts his shift at eight and stays till eight the next morning, greets you with a lopsided grin. He's huge and sweaty, with crooked teeth and rank black hair pulled back in a lopsided ponytail. You didn't like him at first, cautiously steering Dave around him whenever he was near, but you soon learned that he was only intimidating in appearance, not in personality.

"Sup, Zach."

He frowns at you. "That is Officer Equius, please, Dirk. We have been over this frequently."

You grin at him and nod. "Sure, Officer Zach. You seen the sprout around lately?"

He shakes his head. "Not recently, no. He does not come out of the apartment after or before eight."

You shrug a good bye and head up the stairs. Your adorable little brother is waiting on you, after all.

You count the steps as you climb them. One eighty-six, one eighty-seven, one eighty-nine... Your phone rings.

You pause on the one hundred ninetieth step and pull out your phone. It's a simple flip phone, since you don't think owning a fancy iPhone is really worth cost. You flip it open and bring it to your ear. "Sup, Dirk Strider speaking, what can I do you for?" Your lips twitch in a grin. You love saying that. What can I do you for. Ha. It's a hilariously subtle innuendo, you love it...

"Dirk, baby, where you been, motherfucker?" The voice is heavy and foggy. You can smell the weed on his breath from over the phone, and you know that he is high as fuck.

"Gavin." You great cordially. He hasn't called you since last week, right after you dropped off Dave at his first baseball practice. "Sup, man? You haven't hit me up in a while."

"Jus' saw you last week, man. Been wicked busy up in this joint. Can't say I had the opportunity to ring you up, bro. But I'm ringin' you now, man, ain't I? Come smoke up this joint with me, have a party. I got everything all set out and pretty, jus' gotta invite some lady friends, maybe some guy friends for the present speaker, ya know?"

You hesitate for an instant. "I'd love to, man, but my kid's upstairs and I..."

There is loud guffaw. "Yur kid, Strider? You mothafuckin' shittin' me right now? Dave ain't your kid. He's your pitty project. And 'sides. One more night ain't gonna hurt him. He's been fine before." He pauses, and then blows heavily into the speaker of his phone, sending crackling static into your ear. You figure he just took a drag of whatever intoxicating drug he's smoking. "Just a couple hours, D-Stride. Fuck, man, the party ain't nothin' 'thout you."

That's true. Dave will be fine for a few more hours. Just a little longer. Pushing away the guilt that pools in your stomach, you shrug. "Sure, Makara, why not? Just a couple hours."

"That's my main man. Now, get your scrawny ass over here so we can get this party started."

You hang up and shove the phone into your pocket. Just a couple hours. Right. Dave will be fine.

By the time you get home that night, it's close to three in the morning.


End file.
